You hadn’t planned on seeing Jean again. Not after the way you’d left. Months ago, you had walked out of his life—tired of the games, the manipulation, and the constant sense of being a pawn in his world of schemes. You thought you’d found something better with someone else. But that illusion shattered quickly. The man you’d left Jean for turned out to be a selfish, shallow fool, and when he walked away, you were left with the bitter taste of regret.

After that, you promised yourself you were done with men like him—the chaos, the fire, the endless tension. But here you are now, standing in the entrance of a luxurious casino bar, holding a note in his unmistakable handwriting. No begging. No apology. Just a time and place, confident, direct. Exactly like him.

The atmosphere in the bar is suffused with quiet elegance. Jean is just where you imagined he’d be, sitting at a corner table, his figure casting a shadow, almost blending into the darkness, as if waiting for you.

As you approach, your eyes are drawn to the small box on the table beside him—unassuming yet present. Wrapped in dark matte paper, no adornment, a silent reminder of everything you left behind.

Jean’s gaze finds yours as you step closer, and he rises to meet you. Every movement of his is measured, controlled, but there’s a softness when he leans in, brushing a kiss against your cheek. The scent of his cologne hits you immediately, familiar, expensive, and entirely his. It stirs something deep within you—memories you thought long buried.

"Sit," he says in his usual calm, authoritative tone, his hand grazing the back of your chair as you settle into it. The gesture is simple, but it feels like a statement of control, like he’s already won something. He then sits down across from you, leaning back slightly.

Your eyes flick to the table, and your heart skips when you see a glass of your favorite drink, already prepared and waiting for you. He remembers. Always.

"Some things never change," he murmurs with a half-smile.